Grand Voyage- Log 22
Log 22: Dahlia Part 3 “GBUH!” Knave and the muscular man cried out in unison as they were literally thrown through a door, crashing down into a large, dimly lit room. The walls were lined with bunks, soda machines, and other odd luxuries, while in the center was a massive combination of planning center and game room that boggled the mind. The cloaked figure beside them was about to shut the door when a knife seemed to materialize, hanging over its shoulder. It quickly leaped back, pulling out several small shurikens. “Wait, wait,” D’Artagnan called, coming into view out of the massive cloud of smoke, “I’m the ally of that guy.” He pointed at Knave. “And so is the blue guy next to me.” He shook Sid, who was hanging limp from the numerous buildings Art had smashed him into whilst pursuing them. “...He’ll need medical care,” the cloaked figure said simply, “that blue one, I mean.” “Hmm?” Art asked, then finally took a good look at Sid’s battered form. “Oh my god!” He promptly threw Sid across the room in terror, causing the navigator to become imbedded in the wall, “I’m so sorry.” “Say... sorry.... when you... don’t.... nearly kill me....” Sid groaned as he slid to the floor, eyes whiting out. “You guys are strange,” the cloaked figure said, sweatdropping. “Speak for yourself,” Art replied, “you’re the ones running around wearing cloaks.” “Fair enough,” the cloaked one chuckled, then finally closed the door, “as you’re newcomers, it looks like you’ll get a freebie.” He/she then placed his/her hands on his/her mouth, taking a deep breath, and then called, “IT’S SUNNY!” Almost immediately, many other cloaked figures seemed to melt uncannily from the walls, landing gracefully on the ground, and began pulling back their hoods, revealing an assortment of people, form arguably normal folks, to longlegs and longarms, to even a few fishmen. They all began chattering happily, moving about through the various stations, some moving to and from various doors that were now visible on the walls, as the lights flickered on. “Woah,” Art said, watching the proceedings with awe, “what is this?” “We’re the resistance,” the cloaked figure replied, throwing back her hood to reveal a rather pretty face with sky-blue eyes and short cropped white hair, “and it looks like you guys came just in time.” ---- “My name’s Stormy, Stormy Buchanan,” the cloaked figure said, walking Art towards Sid whilst weaving her way through the other members of the base, “I’m not the leader, but I’m the Head Medical Officer.” She reached Sid, quickly planting a small sticker on him that had a red crossbones symbol on it. Immediately several other supposed medics appeared, lifting him up and pulling him into one of the many doors that lined the walls. She turned back to Art. “Give me a minute to change and then I’ll-” A loud crash echoed through the room as Knave and the muscular man stirred, immediately leaping into combat again, their fists clashing, causing a small shockwave. “Oh god,” Stormy muttered, facepalming, “Bayn’s lost it again.” “Dammit Bayn,” came a voice from a small balcony overhead, “calm down!” A man with pale skin and straw colored hair with sideburns leading into a beard and mustache of the same color stepped out. He was wearing a simple casual business suit, with no black jacket, no tie, and the white button up-shirt wrinkled. “But-” Bayn and Knave whined, whipping around to face him right as two comically large paper airplanes smashed into their faces, causing them to drop to the floor. “Oh no,” the man on the balcony said, tossing a few bits of paper from his hands onto the floor, “looks like they need medical attention. Stormy, see to it, will you?” “Yessir!” Stormy said, saluting and quickly marking Knave and Bayn with the same markings that were given to Sid, allowing them be quickly pulled into the same room as him. She then briskly walked into another room, “I’ll be right back.” “And you,” the man on the balcony said, pointing at Art, “walk with me for a second. I don’t think I’ve seen you before. ---- “How the hell did you make those things?” Art asked as he walked slightly behind the apparent leader of the resistance, “and who the hell are you anyway?” “Paper’s a marvel,” the leader said simply, “and you can just call me Calico. It’s what everyone else does.” The two reached a much smaller door on the side of one of the maze like corridors that made up the Marine base. Calico quickly opened it, then marched in, D’Artagnan right behind him. They were in a small, circular room with a desk and a bed in one corner, and another chair in front of it. Besides that it was bare. Calico quickly sat down on the bed, behind the desk, while Art sat down on the chair in front of it. He faced Art and spoke frankly. “We’re going to destroy this city.” “You’re what?!” Art asked, almost immediately leaping out of his chair. “The foundation,” Calico clarified, “as you probably know, this island was originally built on top of a large, odd plant. It’s been advanced since then, and when I came here as a former pirate it was easy to see that this place could support itself just fine, no need for the plant. I assume you saw the same.” “Well...” Art pondered, “it DID seem like the plant wasn’t really part of the city, more like the city was.... built to accommodate it.” “Exactly,” Calico confirmed, “there’s no reason for us to stay near it anymore.... except for fear.” “Fear?” “The founders foolishly built this island on top of a very aggressive plant. Or, at least, it will get aggressive if it’s tampered with. And since it’s grown around the city, moving it or changing any part of it could lead to its destruction. That’s the purpose of the Dahlia Festival. We placate it, keep it well fed and happy, so whenever we add onto the city it stays nice and calm.” “I don’t really see what the problem is,” Art confessed, “all you need to do is feed it, right?” “Idiot,” Calico said bluntly, “do you think we grow our crops on this island? Everything is either imported or we harvest it from the sea. The plant’s making it harder to import, and we can’t keep harvesting from the sea forever. This year’s crop was just barely enough to fill the demands. Within a few years the people will starve.” “I see,” Art said quietly. “So,” Calico continued, “now that you know about us, what about you?” “We’re.... just pirates,” Art said. “Pirates?” Calico asked, his eyes growing slightly bigger, “could you be the Marimo Pirates?” “Marimo?!” Art asked, stunned, “no, no, we don’t have a crew name yet. W-who are these Marimos?” Fear was beginning to fill his voice. Calico lifted up a small newspaper... MARIMO PIRATES’ SPOTTED This morning, elderly resident Mai Bach Hurtz reported seeing a pirate ship bearing a Jolly Roger (pictured below) sailing into the port. He dubbed them the Marimo Pirates, after the odd green object on top of the skull. The SIDC have declined comment on whether or not they helped these vagabonds land. It is currently unknown if they are hostile or not. picture of Knave’s Jolly Roger “H-hey, you okay?” Calico asked, sweatdropping as Art sulked unhappily in the corner upon viewing the article. “That jolly roger....” Art moaned, “Y-yeah, that’s us.” “You should be proud,” Calico said, leaning back, “not every crew gets a name as... unique as yours.” “THAT’S BESIDE THE POINT, DAMMIT!” Art cried, seizing Calico by the shirt cuffs and shaking him, “I WANTED A COOL NAME AND NOW WE’RE...-” He dropped to his knees- “M-marimo... why?” “ANYWAY!” Calico cleared his throat, “I was wondering.... are you strong?” “Guess so,” Art said, wiping tears from his eyes. “Then.... care to assist us? We’re working against the government anyway.” “Wait!” Art said, regaining his composure, hand thrust forward, “you need to explain one last thing!” “Yeah?” “Why are you all doing this? I mean, I get the reasoning, but to have this many people...” Calico stayed silent, as he quietly pulled out a large cigar and lit it, putting it into his mouth. “Dissenters...” he began, “they were fed to it. The plant, I mean. A lot of their parents, friends, lovers.... gone, just for disagreeing with the damn government.” Art stayed silent, horror displayed on his face. A good seven minutes passed, as he contemplated the situation. “I-I can’t speak for my captain or the navigator,” Art said, extending a hand, “b-but I’ll do everything I can to help you.” Calico smiled ruefully, taking it. “Thanks.” “No problem.” ~End of Log~ Previous Chapter | Next Chapter Category:Zeon1 Category:Grand Voyage Category:Stories Category:Chapters